I seem to have a rather odd thing with people named Sam. I realized this today as I was talking to a friend (whose name is Sam), about two other of my friends named Sam. Here at Lee I know four Sams. They are as different from each other as night and day, yet I seem to hit it off marvelously with all of them.
I laughed this afternoon while talking to Sam about Sam and Sam, remembering that even since I was little I had friends named Sam, and always liked them the best. While I was learning to read out of the Raceway books, my favorite ones were about the boy named Sam. I wanted to jump into the story and meet his shaggy dog and play with his toys. Some of my favorite middlel school book were the American Girl stories, especially the ones about the Victorian girl, Sam. I wanted to be Sam and wear the beautiful dresses, run around outside like a hooligan and have strange adventures through the crack in the hedge.
Kindgergarten brought my first real Sam, a little boy who thought my foldable action figure was the coolest thing he had ever seen. He definitely scored some brownie points. The next one came along when I was 10, and stayed around until I was about 17, annoying me and making me laugh with his uncombed brown hair and mischievousness. In some childish way when I was 10, I always wondered if we were going to marry each other. We were the same age, had brown hair, were second born, and he always saved me when we played Robin Hood in the woods. But the thought of him and marriage has definitely been and gone.
The Sams here at school are the people who keep me sane, make me laugh, help me study, keep me from getting too serious, and occasionally call my bluff. They make sure I eat, go home, sleep, and not study or practice myself to death. I'm not sure what I would be like without them here. I would probably be a music major recluse who studied herself to death and was found in a practice room the next morning (okay, so that was a rather strange and morbid thought).
What is it with these people named Sam? Do I have a fixation with them, or is it the other way around? Hmm. . .